You Should've Known Better
by Silverfail
Summary: Rick knew Morty was a 14 year old driven by anxiety, but he never expected to find him an artist drawing on himself with a gray pencil with red ink.


**A/N: UGHHHHH another one please help me, I don't want to write fanfic anymore.**

 **This was originally uploaded to AO3 after I made my account but I like the community here better, so fuck that place. Here's my original author's note from there;**

 **Morty has gone through some terrible shit and this is one of the head cannons I get considering how he deals with it. Sure Rick has his own trauma, but this is Morty time. I wanted to focus on Morty for a bit. He doesn't get enough love. It's all about Rick with the fandom, ain't it? So here's a little thing I wiped out of my ass because I have no other things to do. Enjoy, or not. Make out of it as you will. Just know I recommend you can handle triggers.**

 **It's a little ooc I feel, covering a sensitive topic. I hope it's decent enough...**

* * *

 _'One...two...'_

Morty counted the fresh red lines that went across his forearm. He was counting to find how many tally marks he added to his collection of lines. 8 more and he'll have 30. Christ, what was he doing.

Morty has been wearing a dark green sweater over his usual yellow shirt despite it being almost summer and the temperatures rising to cover up on his self mutilation. Every time he felt stressed he would pull back his sleeve and add another line. Sometimes just staring at them helped him enough, but most of the times he needed more. This was the first time he went excessive and gave himself 7 new cuts. He never meant to get this far, he just wanted relief. An escape from reality helped him cope with what his life had become.

Morty sat down on the bathroom floor, letting the blood flow onto the tiles. He'll be sure to clean it up after, he always did, but he wanted to see the blood pulse out to remind himself that he was alive. He stared into empty space and let the thoughts take over him.

He thought about his bully Frank, and about how he always pulled out his knife in front of him, threatening to cut him. Morty laughed a little bit to himself. Too bad he beat him to it. Frank's bullying also makes it worse when Summer admitted she liked Frank. Who knows what she sees in him, but ever since Frank found out he had increased his bullying, determined to make Morty's life as miserable as possible.

He also thought about Brad and Jessica. Jessica sure was kind, but no matter what Brad would belittle him. He talked to him as if he understood nothing when in fact Morty understood more than he let on. Morty sighed. At this rate he will never earn Jessica's heart.

Morty's mother and father had been fighting more than usual, and although he had gotten used to it, Morty hated to hear them argue up to 1 am, hearing Beth drive out of the house, and then hearing Jerry call after her. They'd fix their relationship, but in a day or two they went right back to arguing. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

Somehow Rick's adventures helped Morty forget about the reality of his life. He would be taken out of his world and a new one, a whole new place to explore with only his grandpa. But good things have to end. A few hours after heading out, he went right back in. At this point, Morty wished his adventures with Rick could last forever, but the icing on the cake is Rick's belittlement on his part. Sure he's become more patient about Morty's lack of understanding, but there is always something he had to point out and criticize about him.

This has led Morty to believe that he was useless. He hated everything about himself. His slow at understanding, his stutters, his anxiety. Everything was absolute bullshit to him. It's no wonder he was getting bullied, or couldn't get the girl to notice him, or his parents to understand, or even his best friend to believe in him. To everyone else, he was a punctured tire that needed to be thrown straight out into the garbage.

Morty felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. Before he knew it, he began sobbing, and he rested his head onto his other arm, the one that wasn't cut up and sleeve rolled down. It was all he had right now. Just a sleeve and a razor.

It felt like an eternity until he heard someone knock on the bathroom door. Crap! Summer was hanging out with friends and his mother was at her job. Jerry was looking for a job and Morty was sure Rick must have been sleeping after taking an all nighter like he usually does when he works on his science. But there was no other person who could be home and Rick was the last person Morty needed to see right now.

"Morty I know you're in there," Rick's gruff voice sounded from outside. "Hurry up in there, I've got to take a massive shit."

"Uhhh c-c-coming!" Morty yelled out. He began scrambling through haphazardly throwing things away and cleaning up the blood.

"Just give me a sec!"

The panic lasted for a few seconds, but to Morty it felt like an eternity making sure everything was prepared and hidden from the next person to come in. He opened the door and scrambled out, hearing Rick fly in and slam the door. He must have been in a real hurry to just ignore his grandson.

* * *

Morty sat on the living room couch watching television to distract himself of what he had just done. The throbbing pain on his arms would not let up, and he grew worried that he didn't clean up the wounds enough. If it got infected, his secret would let out and who knows what his parents would do. He held onto his arm gently and did his best to focus on the television program.

A few minutes later, Rick came out of the garage scrambling around. "Hey M-Morty, have you seen my portal gun?" he asked.

Morty turned to look at him. "I haven't, last I saw it was when we returned from our last adventure."

Rick kept looking around in search of his beloved piece. "Well it has to be around here somewhere. If you see it, come tell-"

Rick stopped talking and glanced over at Morty with a questioning look. It looked almost repulsed. "W-what's with the jacket, Morty. Green is not your color."

Morty tugged at the sleeve protectively. "I-I-I was just t-trying a new look!" he said nervously.

His grandfather said nothing, but kept giving him a questioning glare until he turned back to searching for his portal gun. "Well when you're done watching television, meet me in the garage. I may have a new adventure for us if I can find this damn portal gun." He turned away and disappeared up the stairs.

The small teenager breathed a sigh of relief. No questions yet, everything was going to be fine.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when Jerry came home. He was too exhausted to do anything so he just went right up to sleep. Morty's marathon of television ended when he no longer felt comfortable sitting around, so he went out to the garage to meet up with Rick as he had promised.

"H-hey Rick," he called out when he opened the door. "Did you ever find that portal gun?"

No response. Rick must have been gone. Morty sighed. Perhaps he spent too much time watching television. He turned to head back in when he felt spidery fingers wrap up around his injured arm and pull him back. Morty winced, but quickly fixed himself so it seemed like he didn't shrink back.

"What's with that cringe, Morty?" Rick asked.

"O-oh it was nothing. You just scared me, is all!" The grandson replied.

"Really? Is that a fact?"

"Yeah!"

"Then explain _this_."

To Morty's surprise, Rick pulled out the razor he had used earlier that day out of his lab pocket. It was still wrapped up in toilet paper Morty used to camouflage the sharp object.

The panicking teenager tried to struggle free, but his grandfather's grip on his injured arm was too intense to do much other than cause him much pain. Rick eyed him suspiciously, and then grasped the sleeve with the other arm.

"Please...don't..." Morty begged.

An audible gasp escaped Rick's mouth when he pulled back the sleeves to reveal the tally marks his grandson has given himself. Morty could do nothing but look away in shame. He wanted to run and hide and never come out. He wanted to get as far away from his grandfather as possible. He didn't want to face him; he didn't want to face anyone. But there was no escape, and he knew this.

"M-Morty..." Rick began. "How could you do this?"

"I didn't mean to make it this far," the grandson began. "I only wanted to...wanted to..."

Morty couldn't take it anymore. His face was hot with shame and embarrassment as he tried to explain, and he felt everything break when he considered the pain that has been flowing through him. He couldn't even mention it, which deepened his embarrassment, and he began to sob slightly.

Rick's hand let go of Morty's wrist and he pulled him in for a spidery hug. The stench of alcohol flowed to Morty's nose, but he didn't mind. A hug from Rick was the last thing he expected, and he'll take what he can get. Things must have been really serious to make Rick show such affection, but most of all Rick showing affection showed he truly cared for his grandson. The thought made Morty sob more, and he pressed himself onto his grandfather's shoulder.

The two stayed in an embrace for several minutes, but it felt like an hour or two. Morty continued sobbing, but took comfort in Rick's familiar alcoholic scent. It took a while for him to get settled, but eventually he calmed down. It wasn't until the two dropped on their knees, still hugging, and Rick slowly rocking his grandson back and forth and rubbing his hand on his back to soothe him. They pulled away speechlessly.

"I'm sorry Rick," Morty whispered.

"You don't have to say anything," Rick said. "But please Morty, I know this pain too much. I can't have you turn to alcohol the way I did. Promise me, Morty. Promise me next time you want to do this to yourself, you'll talk to me first."

Morty looked at his knees, ashamed. "I promise."

Rick pulled down Morty's sleeve, hiding the fresh cuts once again. He pushed himself up and held out his hand out to his grandson.

"Let's get you cleaned up to avoid infection. Then we can try to do something to fight off those scars."

* * *

Morty followed his grandfather to the upstairs bathroom. They closed the door behind them and Rick pulled back the sleeve again to begin cleaning the cuts up. He worked gently, but the pain was still fresh causing Morty to shrink back at times. By the time Rick finished, his arm was bandaged up and hidden neatly under the sweater sleeve.

The 14 year old never expected his nihilistic grandfather to care for him so much, especially when they were merely flesh wounds. But he didn't complain. Secretly, he was grateful Rick cared in the first place, and he knew then that even if it doesn't seem like it, Rick was there for him.

Things aren't okay now, but Morty wasn't alone. He had Rick.

It'll be okay.

Everything will be fine.


End file.
